


ring out those ghosts

by allisonmartined



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Team Human, post-season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonmartined/pseuds/allisonmartined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days into June, Stiles and Lydia appear at her doorstep.  "We brought wine," Lydia says, striding through the doorway and into the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ring out those ghosts

 

Three days into June, Stiles and Lydia appear at her doorstep.  

 

"We brought wine," Lydia says, striding through the doorway and into the kitchen.  Stiles smiles at her tightly and she sighs.  She could tell them to leave, she could, she could threaten or yell or _hurt_.  But, the people she cares about, the people she _wants_ , seem to be rushing through her figers, leaving her at lightning speed, and _this_ , maybe she can hold onto _this_.

 

They end up on the floor of her bedroom, hands cradling glasses, the fuzz of alcohol humming in their blood.  Lydia doesn't talk about Jackson and Stiles doesn't talk about Scott and Allison doesn't talk about her mom.  But Lydia talks about _immunity_ , and Stiles talks about _sparks_ and _heroes_ and the merit of being either, and Allison talks about her dad and about the silence of summer.  And they all hum, the weight of everything shifting between them.  Lydia talks about werewolves, but _not_ kanimas, and Allison finds she can _breathe_ , she can stop from flinching, when Lydia spreads the words out, the cadance of her voice reassuring, grounding.

 

Stiles is quieter, like he's taking the words in, rearranging them in his head like tiny puzzle pieces to a bigger picture only he can see.  Sometimes she thinks he and Lydia are similar in that way.  He's been different since Gerard, she thinks, steelier, like the earth is beneath is skin.  She wonders if she's responsible for that, for the stripped away raw alertness that seems to exude from him.  She drinks back the guilt, the burn at the back of her throat matching that behind her eyes.  She breathes.

 

They don't say they forgive her.  Lydia looks at her with guarded eyes and Stiles seems to always be calculating her, trying to predict her next move.  And she doesn't blame them, doesn't care even.  They don't need to forgive her, she doesn't particularly want or need forgiveness.  She just wants _this_.  Red hair splayed across her bedsheet, long lean limbs sprawled across her floor, and the taste of fire in her mouth.

 

Summer seems to float past after that, filled with Stiles and Lydia, their blurry edges becoming sharper and their laughter clearer.

 

"I can shoot a gun," Stiles tells her from the foot of her bed.  He has the dark smudge of mountain ash at the tips of his fingers.  She knows that he's been in _contact_ , with _Derek_ , and that he's been learning things from Deaton.  But she doesn't ask, she doesn't really want to know.  She titlts her head, "Yeah?"

 

He nods, "Dad taught me. Before. Wanted me to know, just in case, you know?"  He laughs brokenly at that.  He always sounds just a little bit sharper when it's just the two of them, like he tries to round off his edges for Lydia.  It doesn't make sense, exactly.  Lydia, the queen of sharpness.  But she supposes, Stiles knows the same brand of brittle that Allison does, and that makes them different, _similar_.

 

Her dad gives her a frown and a quirked eyebrow as she leads Stiles downs to the basement.  Stiles falters a bit on the steps, and she steadies him with her hands, looks him in the eyes.

 

"No one's going to hurt you, okay? Definitely not me," she smiles a bit, "you're kind of my only friend."  He laughs and seems to relax a bit, but his muscles still tense, like he's ready for a fight.  Maybe this wasn't a good idea.  

 

She shows him the arrows and the guns.  "No exploding arrows? Net arrows? Laser arrows?"

 

She smirks, "This isn't Green Arrow, Stiles."

 

He lifts an eyebrow, "Doesn't seem too off-board to me."

 

"I like to think of myself of more of a Hawkeye," he snorts at that, "plus Dad said, and I quote, 'we're going back to basics'."

 

"'Back to basics'? He actually said that? What, are you going to carve your own arrows from the bones of your enemies?" He says, waving his arms around.

 

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure Stiles."

 

They end up at a shooting range eventually and she watches as his forearms tense, and his eyes concentrate on the target, all of that intense energy completely focused.  He's good.  Not as good as she is with a bow, but her bow is an extension of her limbs, of her blood.  He's _good_.

 

They bring it up to Lydia and her eyes cloud over at first, like the mere idea that they know something she _doesn't_ is some kind of betrayal.   _Again, again_ , her eyes seem to say.  But she looks them in the eyes, at their hands, at her own brightly painted fingers and Allison wonders what she sees there that they can't.  She takes a breath, flips her hair, and sets scathing eyes on them.  Allison teaches her defense, and Stiles teaches her how to shoot a gun.

 

In the end, she thinks they're kind of unstoppable.  The unbroken humans.


End file.
